


I Don't Even Need God Anymore

by livxuan



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kinda slaps ngl hes great, M/M, Mello learns that feelings are kinda okay if its his boyfriend making him feel, ND Matt, anyways i just really love them and i think they deserved better, how tf do you even tag stuff on this, idk Mello made points Matt is way cooler than God, idk i think thats all?, kinda fluff but also kinda angst, maybe if matt had more than two seconds of screen time i could write his gay little brain better idk, mello and his gay little brain is the main focus of this whoops, surely there's a term for that?, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28761603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livxuan/pseuds/livxuan
Summary: Matt nurses Mello’s wounds after a fight. There's not much more to say.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	I Don't Even Need God Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Anyways, this is my first time writing with these characters. That and their small amount of screen time results in basic comprehension of their character, apologies in advance.
> 
> And for context, this is meant to take place a couple months before Mello gets involved in the Kira case, but it could work at any time during the show, too.
> 
> I mean,,  
> Except for after they,, y'know
> 
> Yeah um that's all

Mello hated blood.

It didn’t matter if he was giving out or receiving the blood, he hated it all the same.

It was an ironic trait, seeing his ill-tempered ways introduced him to situations that seemingly had no possible result other than bloodshed- but he hated it nonetheless. 

His subordinates- the gangly puppy dogs that passed around his word like gospel and thuggish pawns that broke men’s backs upon being told they interfered with their messiah’s plans and simply had to be removed- found it confusing, seeing as he seemed to derive considerable pleasure from distributing black eyes and pulling triggers. It hardly made sense to them, the way that the sight of opposition wielding a pocket knife resulted in his temper worsening tenfold and even more curses being shouted than usual. It wasn’t fear, mind you, just a burning irate. Really, it seemed that their wiry, well dressed superior only hated being in contact with it, not its existence as a whole. He had no qualms about sending someone who owed him money to their death, but being the executioner bore plenty of complaints.

They assumed this quirk of his- which he never elaborated on besides a simple, grumbling declaration of such hatred- was because he wanted a chance to display his vast, infamous intelligence and kill them off with smart words and perfectly planned blackmail if their fate wasn’t already determined to be six feet under. While he was the smartest man in the mafia, he was far from the most muscular. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t already proven great capability in physical combat, but that surely someone as clever as him would think to execute the more violent aspects of his decision through other people, hence his league of pawns. Or perhaps- and this was theory they reserved for most boring occasions- he had some tragic, gory backstory that kept him awake; something dark and awful hidden behind his snarky eyes and thousands of chocolate bars. 

Really, he just hated getting blood on his clothing. They were expensive pieces, after all, and therefore his way of obtaining them were very difficult jobs. For this reason, he wasn’t exactly thrilled whenever one of his beloved coats got ruined beyond repair or his pants tore. 

This is exactly why the first thing he did when entering his room was shred himself of his favorite fur-collared coat, hanging it carefully on a hook on the wall. The collar was already matted, just like his hair. Damn it. He’d have to send someone to get it dry cleaned now. And then there’d be the hassle of slipping the broad at the cleaners a hundred or two to stay quiet. That or threatening the wench, though both options had already proved to be quite the chore. Fat drops of red excess slipped off the curve of his now sticky leather vest, remnants of the altercation clinging to his everything _._ His hair, his clothing, and his skin all carried red stains, streaks, or splatters.

It was, above all else, quite annoying.

“You’re covered in blood.” The other man in the room noted plainly, momentarily looking up from the DS in his hands.

“No shit,” Mello grumbled, peeling off the vest, sticky with both sweat and the aforementioned red substance. “I hate when you smoke inside. That shit smells awful.” 

The cigarette carelessly dangling between Matt’s fingers was giving him an indescribable headache, and he was already dizzy like all hell. Matt quickly noticed the sour expression and nodded, putting it out on the table. “Sorry. Do you need help?”

“Jesus, Matt, don’t coddle me. What the fuck do I look like, some dumbass kid?” 

All the brunette could do at the blonde’s response was laugh. “You’re so grumpy. Did you lose?”

Mello pulled one of their shirts over his head, not knowing not caring if it was his own or Matt’s. He then sunk into a chair, not bothering to deal with his pants and boots. The boots were already fairly destroyed, so attempting to salvage them wasn’t productive. The pants were practically sticking to his legs, meaning it would be a pain to take off- especially in such a mood as awful as his. “No. I fucking got that bastard good, Mattsie.”

A grin spread across Matt’s lips, which were briefly planted to Mello’s cheek: a reward. “That’s my boy.” A pause sat between them- something was still wrong. Mello hated blood, but anyone who knew a thing about him knew that he liked winning much more. Surely he’d be able to put the easily repairable damage of his coat out of mind and take this as an opportunity to gloat about his absolutely genius plan of attack if things were alright. “But?”

His gaze up to meet Matt’s, dressed in the usual goggles that served a purpose unbeknownst to Mello. There was an angry expression undoubtedly resting in his own eyes, one Mello couldn’t shake off. Not at the fight and it’s outcome, but because someone knew him this well. Not only was Matt able to detect it quickly, but he probed for more so easily. It made him feel strange- the whole vulnerability thing was still an uneasy concept for him. Finally, between gritted teeth and prayers that his eyes weren’t watering like he thought they were, he admitted in a cracking voice, “I broke my goddamn rosary.”

“Oh,” Matt’s voice softened. “You’ve had that for forever, huh?”

“Yeah. Came and left Wammy’s with it on.” A single bead rolled around in his right hand: the last reminder of who he was before all this; the last reminder that maybe there was some holy virtue in his black tar heart. Mello let the bead fall, kicking it into the piles of God-knows-what in the corner. Gone. Before there was time to reflect on this loss, a feeling caused him to flinch: a hand on his bicep. Matt’s attempt at comfort. “That stings, Mattsie.”

The brunette raised a brow, asking a question he had meant to do the moment he saw the red trails trickling down Mello’s upper body. “Is this your blood or his?”

Mello shrugged in response, trying to play it off sauve despite the pained expression on his face betraying him horribly. “Your guess is as good as mine, honey.”

Matt straightened his posture, immediately going to the drawer located behind Mello. He returned with the first aid kit and a bar of chocolate, though he slipped the latter item into the back pocket of his jeans. There were more important things to do than feed his choleric, foul mouthed lover. “Gee, you’d think someone as smart as you would think to clean that shit up pronto. Here.”

“Had to get my coat off. That’s real fur, baby- made in Italy too. I have priorities.” The blonde let out a short laugh at his half-joke, only to find that the stinging hadn’t stopped. In fact, his whole body was in pain. “Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you, uh, help me out?” His gaze reached the floor. It was embarrassing to be in a position of weakness, even around someone as trusted as his own boyfriend. But dear God, the cuts hurt like hell and he wasn’t sure he could move much.

Maybe that wasn’t the entire truth. Maybe he just wanted to feel Matt’s soft hands on his skin. Maybe he didn’t hate physical contact as much as he insisted the first time Matt tried to help him out post-fight, back when they were kids playing with worms and sticking gum in girl’s hair. Maybe he didn’t hate it because of Matt and his stupidly soft hands.

Matt laughed, the gentle sound quickly lifting his spirits. Kissing Mello’s forehead this time, he responded, “You didn’t have to ask. Give me your hand.”

After a brief second of bliss from the interaction that melted his iron defenses every time, Mello obeyed: a rare occurrence in their relationship. “Shit! Baby that _stings_.”

“You complain too much. I haven’t even started.” He began on one of the many lacerations decorating him, this particular one large and on his right inner forearm. “It isn’t my fault you’re so fragile.”

“I am _not_ fragile!” He protested, grinding his teeth as a rag met his skin. “ _Fuck!_ That hurts!”

Matt simply nodded, his point being proven perfectly. “Sit still.” He applied a thin layer of what antibiotic he could find on the cut, dressing it with a large bandage and making a note to ask Mello to ask someone to get some more after this. “You want me to kiss the ouchie and make it feel better too?”

“You’re the worst,” the mafioso paused before mumbling a bashful, “Yes, please.”

Matt brought his lips to the bandage, placing a small kiss to it. That action was followed by giggles that made Mello swoon, and several kisses trailing up his arm. That part scared him, in all honesty. There were guys stronger than him, guys that didn’t get scratched up in fights because they weren’t total fuck ups. Guys that didn’t get mad over every little thing; guys that were okay with opening up and weren’t such insecure wrecks that letting someone care of them was a daunting event. Surely Matt knew this as well. He could be kissing their biceps- which were probably bigger than Mello’s- instead. Mello knew he wasn’t the best pick for romantic partners, so why was Matt still here? It was stupid. Matt was stupid. He was stupid for thinking Matt was stupid! 

Then came a sweet, tease of a kiss on his neck as Matt settled into a position in his lap, and a final one on his lips that took all his insecurities and stupid thoughts, and set them aflame.

Unexpectedly, Matt broke the kiss to take the rag to his face, wiping up a splatter with a slight roughness that made Mello flinch. “Babe, that hurts.”

“I just noticed it,” Matt stated, though his actions did become more gentle after being told it caused pain. Still, he enforced, “I’m not going to kiss you anymore if you don’t let me clean you up. I don’t wanna kiss some random dude’s blood- that’s how you get sick and shit.”

Mello silently complied with a frown that lifted the second Matt kissed his previously dirty cheek, though he knew better than to let it go any further given the circumstance. “Honey, I’m not complaining about you kissing me; but this one on my stomach burns like a _mother-”_

“Jesus, Mel!” Matt exclaimed, pulling his shirt up to reveal a much deeper cut. “Shit, you should have told me about this one first. What happened to those priorities?”

All Mello could muster was one, slightly shaky word: “Bad?”

“You think?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Sorry. I bet this isn’t how you wanna spend your Friday night, huh?”

Matt shrugged. “You pay for the pizza tonight and we’re even.”

“Deal.” 

A comfortable silence settled between them as Matt worked on the abdominal injury, save for a couple sharp hisses and curses from Mello and some light scolding from his boyfriend. “‘Lo?”

“Yeah, babe?” He winced. “ _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._ ”

“You really didn’t have to ask me to help you. And you don’t need to feel guilty about it.” Matt didn’t look up from his work. “I trust you with my life, honestly and completely. You could put some trust in me, you know.”

Mello froze. “You don’t- you don’t think I trust you?”

“I don’t think you trust yourself to trust anyone,” he admitted. “Even if you do, you don’t trust them enough to let them know. All I wanna do is make you happy and make sure you’re okay, okay? Can’t you trust me to do that?”

The blonde didn’t speak for a moment. He couldn’t. Goddamn Matt, always being right. That’s what you get when you spend almost every day of your life with someone, he figured. Eventually, his lips parted, preparing for words that were born trembling nonetheless.

“Mattsie- Matt. I trust you with all I have. Fuck, _you’re_ all I have. I’d be an idiot not to trust you. You make me the happiest man on this god awful planet- you don’t have to worry if I trust you or not.” Mello lifted his less-wounded arm, his hand meeting Matt’s chin. He lifted his face to meet his own, speaking with a stern softness foreign to his tongue. “And I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you; that I don’t show you enough. Because I love you, Matt.”

The other man grinned, kissing an area above the now cleaned and bandaged cut on his stomach: the closest piece of flesh to him. “I love you more, Mello.”

“Don’t be dumb.” Mello, in all his well-humored but undeniably aggressive, competitive nature, scoffed. “No one loves anything more than I love you.”

“Dumb? I’m not the one getting in fights and coming home all fucked up and bloody,” Matt teased. A sad, sudden pause killed the environment of the room. Then, “Mel?”

“Yeah?”

“I get worried about you. Fuck, I’m _scared_ for you.” Matt sniffled, his lips curling into a small, sad smile, hidden under his hair and the hellward angle of his head. Regardless, he kept a slight humor in his tone that made Mello simultaneously furrow his brows in confusion and want to pull him into the biggest, tightest hug imaginable and never let go. “You take care of me and protect me- that’s always been your priority. And I appreciate it- I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I can never get the chance to take care of- and I mean really take _care_ of- you. It drives me crazy, dumbass.”

“Babe,” he started, but quickly decided it would be a much better option if he simply shut his mouth for once.

“You’re an idiot, Mihael. You know that, right? You do the stupidest, most reckless shit and it- it pisses me off.” He laughed, though the ironic sound was largely prohibited by the tears caught in his throat. “Smartest bastard in this shithole side of the country, and yet you’re _such_ an idiot.”

“Babe,” He began again, a bit taken aback by the sudden use of his legal name. Perhaps that was the reason as to why he found himself repeating the word over and over; moving to hold his lover’s face in his hands. Anything to smooth him- anything to calm him down and make him feel better. Mello pulled the other man up to meet his soft, scared gaze and trying smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just don’t cry, please.”

He sniffled once more. “I’m not crying, you dolt.”

“Promise?” He extended his pinky. Matt took it, wrapping his own around the finger. The other man took this as an opportunity to kiss his knuckles, to which Matt responded with the most deliciously flustered expression imaginable.

“Promise, stud.” With a small nod, he told him, “We just got a few more. I got the serious ones taken care of first.”

Mello fell back into the chair, allowing himself to finally be comfortable. Some might even call it vulnerable, though he would quickly clock them for even suggesting such a term. Eventually, he asked the question he asked Matt every evening: “So, what did you do all day?”

The brunette responded exactly how Mello predicted: a small shrug and a, “Oh, you know. Played that new game you got me. Shit’s cool.”

“Shit’s cool?” Mello asked, probing for further description. 

“Yeah. The graphics are good, and the art- God, Mel, the _art._ ” His words carried a happiness that made the mafioso blush. Upon further description, the video game enthusiast’s voice grew quick and excited, the fingers of his free hand tapping against his palm repeatedly. Though Mello recognized little to no words other than the occasional _boss, NPC,_ and _weapon_ (Matt spent a good couple minutes going on about those, and how his favorite was currently the steel barbaric axe achieved at level seven) _,_ the sound of Matt being happy made him even happier. “Cleared a couple levels before I got my ass served to me, though. But I think I got a plan for the next time. Still gotta work out some weak spots in it- otherwise it’s pretty solid.”

The blonde felt himself smile, mumbling, “You are so fucking cute, Mattsie.” A final bandage was placed and Matt stood up, admiring his work. “All done?”

“Almost.” Mello watched his boyfriend get a blanket, unsure of what was to come next. Before he could protest, he found himself wrapped in the said article of cloth; unable to push the envision of Matt’s kisses away.

“Matt, my hair!”

“Quit complaining,” he snickered, planting another handful of kisses onto the other man’s face. 

“Matt!” He giggled, suddenly ending the swarm of affection. Mello frowned for a moment, thousands of questions circulating his brain. Did he do something wrong? Was there another cut they missed? Did his breath smell bad?

Matt suddenly laughed, asking, “Did you just… giggle?”

He frowned, “No.”

“You totally did. Lying’s a sin, by the way. Have fun in hell.” The wicked grin on Matt’s face refused to disappear.

“Shut your trap, harlot.” He sputtered out a failed attempt at an angry-sounding response, his nerdy curses being met with more laughter. 

“You’re so cute when you’re pissed off, dork.” He chuckled once more, opening the blanket to cuddle into Mello’s torso and repositioned it to cover both bodies. From his pocket, Matt produced the chocolate bar he had gotten earlier. “You want it?”

“Obviously.” Mello grinned, unpackaging the candy and taking a bite. “You’re the best.”

“I won’t argue.” He smiled softly, content. The blonde placed his arm protectively over the other man, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “We can get you a new rosary tomorrow, if you want.”

He shrugged, “Nah. I have an extra one just in case- was kinda anticipating it getting broken anyways.” Mello paused to think, “And y’know what? I don’t even need God anymore, baby. Shit’s just for looking pretty. I got you- always have and that’ll never change. God can go fuck himself- I’m in love with you, Mail.”

“I love you too, Mihael.” The warmth that engulfed Matt was one that only Mello’s embrace could possess; and as he felt Mello’s fingers slip between his own, he knew his lover felt the same sensation. He sighed happily, his head resting on the other man’s chest and thumb brushing over Mello’s hand. In those sweet, quiet moments, everything in his life was perfect. He was perfect. “I love you so much.”


End file.
